When The Teacher is Silent

 (JB Devo)

When the Teacher Is Silent, Keep Moving.

What do you do when life takes more than you thought you could lose?

When the storm rips through your home

and leaves you standing in the wreckage,

when the wind howls through the hollow spaces

where your laughter used to live?

What do you do when you bury the one person

you swore you couldn’t live without?

When the dirt falls like a death sentence,

when their name is etched in stone,

when you reach for their hand in the middle of the night—

but the bed is empty, and so is your heart?

What do you do when the people you trusted walk away,

when the ones who called you brother

act like they never knew your name?

When your phone stays silent,

when your presence is no longer needed,

when you realize you were just a chapter in their story

while they were the whole book in yours?

And worst of all—

what do you do when you cry out to God

and hear nothing but silence?

Because that’s the part that cuts the deepest.

Not just the loss.

Not just the loneliness.

But the feeling that the One who could stop it—

didn’t.

You prayed.

You begged.

You pleaded for the storm to pass,

for the cancer to be healed,

for the marriage to be saved,

for the friend to come back,

for the child to make it through the night.

But the storm came anyway.

The sickness stayed.

The papers were signed.

The betrayal cut deep.

The grave swallowed another name.

And now, here you are—

standing in the aftermath,

clutching a faith that feels thinner than smoke,

wondering if you even believe anymore.

And still—God is silent.

No thunder.

No signs.

No whisper in the wind.

Just silence.

And that’s the test.

Not a test of how many verses you know,

not a test of how loud you can sing on Sunday,

but a test of who you are

when the music stops and the darkness stays.

Because the teacher is always silent during the test.

Not because He has left,

not because He is cruel,

but because He is watching—

watching to see if your faith is built on the blessings

or on the One who gives them.

Watching to see if you will curse Him in the storm

or cling to Him in the wreckage.

Because faith isn’t proven in the light—

it’s proven in the dark.

It’s proven when the prayers go unanswered.

It’s proven when you’re kneeling at a headstone.

It’s proven when every door slams shut

and you’re left with nothing but the choice

to walk away or to hold on.

And I know you’re tired.

I know you’re angry.

I know you’ve been screaming at the sky

until your voice is gone,

begging for an answer,

for a reason,

for a sign that He is still with you.

But listen to me—

Keep moving.

Even if you’re crawling.

Even if your hands are shaking.

Even if your faith is hanging by a thread.

Keep moving.

Because the silence will not last forever.

Because this pain is not where your story ends.

Because the grave is not the final word.

Because the storm doesn’t have the power

to take what truly matters—

your soul, your purpose, your God.

One day, the silence will break.

One day, the darkness will lift.

One day, you will hear His voice again—

and you will understand that He was never far,

never absent,

never blind to your suffering.

He was there in the storm.

He was there in the loss.

He was there in the silence,

holding you together when you thought you’d fall apart.

And when you rise from this—

because you will rise—

you will be stronger,

you will be wiser,

you will be unshakable.

So when the teacher is silent, keep moving.

When the storm rages, keep moving.

When the grave is fresh, keep moving.

When the pain is unbearable, keep moving.

Because joy comes in the morning,

but only for those who refuse to die in the night.